The ceiling looked like it was moving.

It wasn’t, obviously. Hospitals didn’t move. But my vision kept swimming in and out, warping the white tiles above me. Everything felt distant—like I was watching myself through water. Voices floated around me, too loud and too soft at the same time.

“She’s losing too much blood.”

“We need a transfusion now.”

“Her pressure is dropping—move!”

My heart hammered, each beat slower than the last, like it was dragging itself through ...